Salva Nos Ab Hoc Inferno
by AsLostAsAliceAsMadAsTheHatter
Summary: Max Thompkins is sixteen and desperate. Neglected and abused by her jaded mother, she is left to care for her younger siblings. She's done some shameful and illegal things to keep them alive, things she'd rather not remember. She even took a job at the famous Ink and Paint Club, where rumors swirl of an illegal side business. And unfortunately for her, the rumors are true.
1. Max's Shitty Life

She shouldn't be alive, she knew that. She shouldn't be as sane as she was, she knew that. She also knew her mother shouldn't leave her alone as often or as frequently as she did. She also knew that her stomach growling nearly constantly wasn't right either, but she couldn't do anything about it.

Her mother hadn't wanted her, that much was apparent in the way she spoke to her and treated her. She rarely remembered her name, most often calling her a variation of it. She was surprised she had made it as far into life as she had, since she was lucky to eat once a week. She knew from the whispers she had heard that her mother had fed her and cared for her for the first year of her life out of necessity only, and as soon as she was old enough to walk and talk had dumped her wherever she could so that she could run off and do whatever it was she did. She had vague memories of hazy smoke filled rooms, men much older than her mother touching her where she shouldn't be touched, and hiding from police more than once.

At age five she had been given the best gift ever, at least in her eyes. Her mother stopped dropping her off with "friends" and left her home alone. Granted, their dingy apartment was in one of the worst areas of Toontown, but it was still better than the drug and sex dens she had known her whole life. She took care of herself the best she could, eating whatever she could find that wasn't rotten, teaching herself to read and write, and even managing some Toon Theory from some of the few talented Toons she encountered.

It definitely wasn't ideal, nor happy, but she knew nothing else. By age six she had learned that when her mother did drop by, which was maybe once every week or two, that she'd better be nonexistent, because if she wasn't it would result in a few punches, kicks, or whatever else the woman deemed suitable punishment. She often wished she had a real family, one that loved her and took care of her, but she quickly learned dreams were worthless. She was born to be a punching bag, and to exist in the hell that was life.

* * *

Max sighed as she changed her baby brother's diaper. That life, while horrible, seemed like a faraway dream compared to her life now. When she had been twelve her mother had managed to get herself pregnant, resulting in her three year old baby sister. The same thing had happened when she was fifteen, which was why she was now changing her eleven month old baby brother. As she had expected, with each pregnancy her mother would inevitably have the kid and then disappear, leaving her to care for her younger siblings. It had been so much easier when she was an only child. At least then she wasn't responsible for two children, only herself, and she had been doing that for nearly ten years by the time her sister had arrived.

Not that she'd wish her siblings away, she loved them dearly, but she was still technically a child herself. She barely found enough to feed herself, and when her sister had been added to the mix she'd had to resort to stealing to make sure she could feed her. It had gotten even harder after her brother had joined them, and she'd eventually given up and gone to an animator. After a "special" payment, she had been redrawn enough so that when she so chose she could create milk to feed her infant brother. It had hurt, and it had cost her her innocence. But she didn't regret it. She'd done far worse to make sure her brother and sister had food and clothes.

It had almost been a blessing to gain employment at the Ink and Paint Club, a nightclub known for its all-Toon performers and, in the shadier circles, it's not-so-legal prostitution of female performers. By that point she would have done anything, including theft and assault, to ensure some form of income. She was snapped out of her thoughts by a small voice calling for her.

"Mama?" Mallie, her little sister, called.

Max sighed again, hanging her head. If she had a nickel for every time she'd told her sister she wasn't her mother they'd be rich.

"Sissy, Mallie, I'm Sissy," she automatically corrected, though she knew she was wasting her breath. "What's wrong?"

"I'm hungry."

"I know, sweetie," Max said, lifting her brother off the table, "but we can't get groceries until after work, okay?"

Unluckily for her, it wasn't one of the weeks their mother tried to play mommy and brought them some groceries, and her previous paycheck was well beyond spent.

"Mamamama," Marcus babbled, already picking up on his sister's name for Max.

"How much longer?" Mallie whined.

"Not long," Max promised, glancing at the clock and doing a double take when she noticed the time, her eyes doing the classic toon enlargement. "Shit," she swore under her breath. "Make that now. Come on, kiddo. Get your coat or I'm gonna be late for work."

Thoughts running a mile a minute, Max desperately tried to corral her siblings and simultaneously lock up their apartment. Head spinning as she chased her sister down the stairs and ignored her brother's tugging of her hair, she rushed off to work, praying that the night would go quickly.


	2. Jessica's Thoughts

Jessica sighed as she watched the usual performers enter the club for work. She was seated on the edge of the stage, her dress slit gaping dangerously as she tried to catch a break from her ever leering boss. A loud clatter caught her attention and she turned her head in the direction it came from, eyebrow quirking. Her unasked question was answered in the form of the club's youngest performer struggling through the door with a nearly screaming toddler and loudly babbling infant. The crash had been caused when said toddler nearly climbed into one of the prop boxes, only to be snatched out at the last second by her…sister? Mother? Jessica wasn't sure. Either way the props had crashed to the ground and the boss was screaming at the poor kid like there was no tomorrow.

She stood, shaking slightly, her grasp tight on the little girl's hand to prevent her from causing any more trouble. Jessica sighed as she watched the scene play out. She didn't really know the girl well, as she only came in, sang, and left. She had noticed she drug those two kids with her everywhere, and thus assumed her situation wasn't ideal. She shuddered, briefly flashing back to her early years after being drawn, before she had met Roger and straightened herself out. She pitied the girl if she was in a situation even remarkably similar to that.

The girl interested her, for what reason she didn't know. Maybe because she was so young and yet had two kids. Maybe it was because she worked in the seedy nightclub though it couldn't be legal. Whatever the reason, Jessica couldn't help but study her as she stood trembling in front of their sleazy boss. She was pretty, Jessica decided, not too beautiful to be unreal, but not too homely to be ignored either.

Nice figure, nowhere close to her own of course, but then, Jessica had always been different. She was somewhat short, though not fat, and had an air of defeat that floated around her constantly like a cheap perfume. Her hair was a deep black, nearly purple and green in the right lighting, and her face was heart-shaped. Her eyes were some of the most beautiful the woman had ever seen, including her husband's. They were a light blue, so light they almost looked transparent, but darkened with the application of makeup.

And at least she was humanoid. Before her, she had been the only humanoid Toon that worked in the club. It was a welcome change, as was the fact that she was female and young. It drew some attention away from herself. Not enough that she didn't constantly carry a frying pan, but enough so that she could at least make it to her car without being assaulted.

Her eyes tracked the girl as she attempted to drag the now screaming children backstage to the two-bit closet she used as a dressing room. The girl looked up, exhausted blue eyes meeting her green, and she smiled. Shocked, Jessica gave her head a slight tilt of acknowledgement, more recognition than she usually gave anyone other than Roger. Then again, most knew her cold demeanor and refused to look at her unless they wanted sex.

As the sound of a door slamming reached her ears she couldn't help but be thankful the girl was a minor, otherwise she'd be the star feature of the after-hours performances, and she already looked as though she'd been scarred enough. Jessica cringed at the thought of not only the girl herself being submitted to the scum that slunk in every night, but at the thought of her two kids witnessing it. She noticed her boss slink backstage, and wondered what he was doing.

All the regulars were already present and prepping for the show, and she knew the girl—Max maybe?—would be along shortly after she got the kids settled. Her stomach churned as her mind urged her to see the reason for his sudden departure, but she wouldn't allow herself to believe it. Surely he wouldn't proposition the kid, not since she was a minor? Jessica winced, hoping her instincts were wrong.

She shook her head as if to physically chase the thoughts away. So what if her boss was talking with the girl? It was no business of hers. Her thoughts poked at her, telling her she knew good and well why she was so nervous. Closing her eyes, she pushed away the unwanted thought that for the first time, she might actually be worried about someone other than herself or Roger. Sliding off the stage, she sauntered back to her own dressing room to wait until her cue, making sure to lock the door behind her.


	3. A Promotion

Max sighed as she settled her siblings down for the night. Mallie was being an exceptional holy terror that night, and she suspected it was because she was hungry. If only she were a little younger, she could still let her nurse and the problem would be solved. But she wasn't, so she was going to have to make do with the pack of crackers she had managed to swipe on her way into the club.

"Here Mallie, eat these," she said, handing her the packet.

"But these have cheese, and I don't like cheese," the toddler argued.

"Yes you do," Max argued, blocking her baby brother onto the bed with whatever she could find.

"No I don't. I want peanut butter."

"Well tough, because that's all you're getting until I get paid."

As she had anticipated, the toddler began to sniffle before bursting into tears. She sighed, torn between comforting her and allowing her to cry herself out. At least then she might be more willing to sleep until the end of her shift. Just as she was about to try and calm her sister down she heard a knock on her dressing room door. Her eyes darted between the door and her bawling sibling before she decided to just speak to whoever it was in the hall.

"Just a second!" Max called, shushing her sister as she went.

If it was who she thought it was demanding her attention, then she knew she'd get into trouble for the noise. She cracked the door open just wide enough for her to squeeze through, shutting it behind her to block the sound of her sister's cries.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson? What can I do for you?"

Mr. Johnson, her boss, was a sleazy man. At five-eleven and a tad overweight he looked like the type of man you'd find in a dive-bar, and unfortunately the Ink and Paint Club wasn't far from it. His smile was crooked and hinted that he was a swindler (which he was), his hair was slicked back and greasy, and his suit was cheap. All in all, he radiated a very repellant atmosphere.

He smiled his "you're going to hate what I'm going to tell you but I'm going to enjoy it immensely" smile, and Max was immediately on edge.

"Maxanne, just the girl I wanted to see," he said, still leering at her and ignoring her flinch at his use of her full name. "I have a bit of a…a promotion for you, if you will."

Unfortunately for Max, she wasn't aware of the darker goings-on of the club. She was only sixteen, nearly seventeen, and thus still a minor, so unless she had walked in on the side business or been told (which she hadn't) there was no reason for her to know. Perhaps if she had known before she accepted the job, she would have found work elsewhere. Since she hadn't, her life was about to become a lot darker and a lot more complicated.

"A…promotion?" she asked warily.

She knew as well as the next girl that there were no promotions in the Ink and Paint Club, only hirings and firings.

"In a way. Think of it more as an extension of your responsibilities."

Now she was really on edge. Her only "responsibilities" as he put it were to be on time and sing.

"So, what does this 'extension' entail?" Max asked.

"Well it's simple really. Have you ever noticed some of our patrons lingering after the show as you're leaving?" He waited for her to answer, grinning as she nodded the affirmative. "Well, that's what the promotion is. I have a little side business here at the club, a very successful one at that.

After the show is over, you'll retouch your makeup and wait here in your dressing room. After a bit, when the regular customers have left, you'll hear a bell chime. This is your warning to get ready."

"Ready for what?" Max asked, not liking where the conversation was going.

He grinned, and that was when she knew she was screwed.

"Ready for your customers. You see Maxanne, I run what some would call a, well, a brothel. Certain guests pay for an appointment with whichever girl they'd like, and said girl gives them, depending on what they pay, an hour or half-hour of uninterrupted time. Do you understand?"

Regrettably, Max _did_ understand. Her face morphed into one of disgust and shock.

"But I'm only sixteen!" she protested.

"And? Honey, with makeup and the right dress you easily look twenty. What the men don't know won't hurt 'em. Hell, it'd probably make some of 'em like you more."

Max shuddered in disgust. She could already feel their disgusting hands pawing at her, see them leering at her.

"What about my brother and sister? They're in my dressing room every night."

She thought she had him. Surely he wasn't that twisted.

"What about 'em? Let 'em watch for all I care," Mr. Johnson said.

Max gaped at him, unable to believe she worked for someone so sadistic.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you're fired."

She needed the job, desperately. It was the only thing standing between them and the streets, not to mention starvation. Cringing, and nearly crying, she opened her eyes to look at him, giving him her best "go to hell" look.

"All right, I'll do it. When do I start?"

"Tonight," he said with a smirk.

"How long will I have before my first customer?"

"About a half an hour. That's generally how long it takes to clear everyone out of here."

She nodded, her stomach churning at the thought of what she was about to do.

"Okay."

"Good girl. And remember—you're twenty," Mr. Johnson said before walking away, most likely to ogle the rest of the girls.

Max gritted her teeth, clenching her hands into fists. Why was she so upset? She'd done this before hadn't she, when Marcus was born? What was so different about this time? Was it because she hadn't made the choice of her own free will?

She thought so, but she wasn't sure. Whatever the reason, she took a few deep breaths until she'd calmed herself down. That done, she reentered her dressing room, hoping she could keep herself together long enough to make it through the night.

* * *

Max's hand shook as she reapplied her lipstick. She'd managed to make it through the show, even singing her song without being pitchy. Now she just had to survive the next few hours before she was able to go home. The warning bell had yet to sound, but she wasn't sure how much longer she had until it did. She glanced over at Mallie and Marcus, the former occupying herself by playing peek-a-boo with their brother.

She had to get them out of there. She might have had to grow up at five and lose every shred of innocence she had been born with, but she'd be damned if she let that happen to them. The only problem was, who wasn't working an "extra shift"? Furthermore, who did she trust enough to watch them? She wracked her brain, desperate to come up with at least one person she'd be comfortable leaving them with.

Finally, a name popped into her mind. It was farfetched, and she seriously doubted the woman would do it, but she had to ask. She was her last and only chance. She turned and looked at her siblings.

"Mallie, watch Marcus. I'll be right back."

"Where you going?" the toddler asked, forever curious.

"I'm going to talk to someone. Stay here and watch the baby, okay? Can you help me out by watching him?"

"Sure, Mommy!" Mallie responded excitedly.

Sighing, Max didn't bother to correct her, merely exiting the room to hopefully solve the problem of what to do with them while she was indisposed.


End file.
